


Plumage

by crimsonherbarium



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Aziraphale's Bookshop, Established Relationship, Heaven & Hell, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, crowley saunters vaguely upward, feathers - Freeform, is it possible to un-fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 07:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19372525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonherbarium/pseuds/crimsonherbarium
Summary: In which Crowley begins to discover what happens to demons who are too nice to be demons.





	Plumage

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said suddenly, looking up from his book. “Come here.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Crowley was loathe to move from where he was sprawled out on the bookshop sofa. It was damn comfortable—he’d worn it in exactly the way he liked it over the years, and he’d have been more than happy to spend the better part of the next decade on it, provided there was good wine to drink while he did so.

Aziraphale frowned, placing a bookmark meticulously between the pages and setting the volume aside. “Just come here, would you?”

Crowley let out a long-suffering groan, but got up regardless. “Well?” he said expectantly, gesturing at himself. “What is it?”

“Something’s changed,” Aziraphale said with wonder. “You look…different.”

“Started using a different brand of gel,” Crowley offered, running his hands through his tousled locks to make sure they were sticking up in the particular careless way he wanted them to.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, not _that_ body,” he said impatiently. “Your other one.” He pulled a pair of spectacles from his pocket and put them on, squinting past Crowley’s physical form at his formerly angelic one. Several of Crowley’s eyes rolled in exasperation, while the version of him that was currently occupying space in the bookshop put a hand on his hip.

“What the Hell are you talking about, angel?”

“Sorry, dear, just—can you get your wings out for a moment?”

“What?” Crowley made an incredulous expression.

“Oh, stop being stubborn and just _do_ it, would you?”

Crowley sighed and let his wings unfurl from his shoulder blades, letting them flap a few times to get a good stretch in. They clipped a stack of books on a nearby table, which promptly toppled over. Aziraphale glared at him reproachfully.

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to see them.” Crowley shrugged.

Aziraphale circled behind him, carefully dodging the beating of his wings, and exclaimed in surprise.

Crowley wouldn’t have admitted it, but the angel was making him anxious. “Aziraphale, will you _please_ just spit it out?”

Aziraphale reached out to touch one of his wings, and Crowley jumped. “Damnit, angel—”

“Your wings aren’t black anymore.”

“Sorry, _what_?”

“They’re not.” Aziraphale caressed the smooth feathers in wonder. They weren’t white—probably never would be again, that would take a _real_ miracle, but they had changed hue. In places they were the almost-black of charcoal, in others the warm grey of a dove’s feathers, in still others the shade of cigarette smoke.

Crowley’s craned to get a look, and he swore violently. “How—?”

Aziraphale was positively gleeful. “I _told_ you that you were too nice for your own good.”

Crowley whipped his sunglasses off and stared at his reflection in them, making sure that his eyes were still their same slitted yellow. He flicked his tongue, doing one of those really weird snake-like things he could do with it that always made Aziraphale frown and look away in discomfort. Still a demon then, or near enough. That was good. He didn’t want a damn thing to do with Heaven after what they’d tried to do to Aziraphale. He’d had plenty of reasons to hate them before, but there was something different about watching something like that happen to someone you loved.

Ah. Love. That had to be the stumbling block.

“I think it suits you,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

“Oh, shut up, would you?” Crowley snapped back, but there was no venom behind it.

The angel went back to his book, looking pleased as punch, leaving Crowley to run his hands over the parts of his wings he could reach in confusion. There was no telling exactly what this meant.

He supposed he had an eternity to figure it out, though.

**Author's Note:**

> I like to imagine that, eventually, both Crowley and Aziraphale end up in a state somewhere between angel and demon. Aziraphale's wings are always lighter than Crowley's, and Crowley is extremely irritated that his feathers no longer match his clothes. 
> 
> If you enjoyed my story, please consider leaving me a comment!


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